


Altered Horizons

by InsaneSociopath



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bipolar Chris, Bipolar Disorder, Chris is depressed, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Jim decides to fix that, Role Reversal, The usual Eddy™ experience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneSociopath/pseuds/InsaneSociopath
Summary: Chris strides into the bar and raises his fingers intending to whistle loudly...And takes an elbow to the face instead.





	1. An irregular introduction

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay okay it goes like this see.

School outing for the good boys and girls becomes alcohol fuelled nightmare feat. broken ribs and dislocated shoulder.

Just like that.

It was just supposed to be an “educational fieldtrip” for the newly advanced 2nd year cadets. A “reward” for surviving their first year of the academy. Chris didn’t even want to go, let alone be in charge of the damn group of mostly-security track punks. 

Don’t get him wrong, security cadets are usually perfectly nice individuals dedicated to their chosen cause (i.e. getting both as muscly and flexible as they can manage and learning to be supremely overprotective of everyone, both physically and mentally). But this particular year’s cohort? Or at least the ones that were given the “honour” of being chosen for this trip to three different bumfuck nowheres?

Total assholes. 

Chris had started to get inklings of this only a few minutes after he’d been prodded onto the shuttle by an insistent Commodore Osprey. 

(“You need to get out of the data labs Pike!” she had said. “It’ll be good for you!” she had said. “Human interaction! People for you to act all Captainly around!”)

They hadn’t even waited for the cockpit door to slide shut behind him before they started sniggering and muttering lewd jokes about how bedraggled and exhausted he looked to each other.

Granted, he did look a right mess. But Osprey _had_ hauled him to the shuttle port by the scruff of his neck when he was in the middle of his third caffeine fuelled 36-hour theoretical physics binge of the week. Yes he turned into a human wreck when Phil went off into space without him. So sue him, he loves that man more than breathing.

Anyway, besides the point.

The security cadets are assholes. Never quite going far enough for Chris to be able to threaten them with reporting them for disrespect or insubordination, but just far enough to make him grind his teeth constantly and start daydreaming about ways to ruin their careers.

So by the end of the fourth (and thankfully final day) of touring the three Earth-based Starfleet ship yards, Chris had decided he couldn’t deal with them anymore and sent them off for a night at liberty rather than sticking to the Command-issued team-bonding exercise schedule. A plan which had sounded great on the surface (as it meant he could also go find a bar and drown his own sorrows in beer and whiskey) but had ended up being a terrible decision.

Terrible because when he’d finally gotten to the one and only bar in the area -some rundown almost-shack eyesore- there’d been three of the red clad idiots holding some poor civvie backwards over a low table while a fourth repeatedly rammed his fist into his face. 

Terrible because when he’d sighed and then stuck his fingers in his mouth to whistle, an elbow had come out of nowhere and smashed into the side of his face. 

A lot of yelling, crashing, and throwing his fists around in self-defence later, and the local police had finally shown up and hauled most of the civilians and at least half of his cadets outside. Meanwhile, Chris had been left sat on the floor leaning on the side of the bar, panting and holding his dislocated shoulder still with his other (possibly fractured?) arm wondering what the fuck just happened.

And so here he is.

With his definitely-broken ribs, throbbing headache, numb arm, and shattered dignity. 

Wondering why the hell he didn’t just tell Osprey to stick it when she first stormed into his lab.

He should have just stayed in the physics research department slowly dying of sleep deprivation and caffeine poisoning. It was much less painful. 

* * *

The kid who was getting the original beatdown is now lying unconscious off to his left, his face a mess of cuts and blood. There’s slivers and shards of shattered glass almost haloed around him, glinting slightly in the low light, and with every one of his breaths, the blood pooling under his nose ripples slightly.

Chris is just contemplating whether or not to drag himself over despite his own pain when one of the actually mature cadets he’s been hauling round all week strides purposefully across the room and crouches down over him. Her hands move confidently in a quick sweep over his body, and two fingers press briefly against his pulse point on his wrist. 

“Sir he’s bleeding pretty badly,” she says suddenly, her eyes focusing on him intently, “so I’m going to go look in the bar’s backroom for a first aid kit. The police officer in charge said he will be back in to speak to you in a minute, but he seems more concerned about the number of injuries everyone has than actually finding out what happened right now, so it might be a few minutes more than that.”

Chris makes a noise that he hopes will be recognised as the grunt of agreement he was aiming for.

“Stay were you are sir, you’re pretty bashed up yourself,” she finishes with, sweeping back to stand gracefully before moving briskly towards the back door.

“Trust me kid,” Chris mutters to himself with a wince, “I’m not gonna move even an inch if I have my way.”

He pauses, allowing his eyes to slide shut for a long second.

“Unless someone brings me a bottle of vodka to down anyway,” he adds longingly.

* * *

When the Police Sargent eventually does crunch his way across the debris covered floor to where Chris is still slouched, the beaten up blonde kid has been awake and grumbling for a couple of minutes. The cadet -Uhura?- has wrestled his grimy t-shirt up and slathered the beer-bottle cut on his chest with some kind of ointment and is currently pressing an ever-freeze icepack against his swollen eye despite protests. There’s another cadet nervously hovering over Chris -some very fresh -faced youth who probably only finished his Earth schooling certificates 9 months ago. Chris has mulishly allowed him to dab the worst of the blood off his face and turn a couple of bar towels into a rough sling for his arm, but he still looks extremely unsure of himself.

“Well I’ve got a dozen variations on approximately the same story, captain Starfleet” the officer drawls unimpressed to him when he finally reaches him. “Winona’s boy tried to chat up the wrong girl and got a fist to the nose for it. And then he punched back and got a four man beat down in return. Then you showed up and the whole bar went to hell, every being in here going for someone else’s throat.”

“Well I missed the first part, but that about sums it up,” Chris replies, voice gravelly. 

“Thought you Captain types were supposed to calm things down not heat them up further?”

“Little hard to stop a fight when you’re lying dazed on the floor with your ears ringing sarge’”

“Yeah I bet,” the policeman mutters, discontent clear in his voice. He scuffs the floor with the sole of his right boot and yet more shattered glass clinks with the motion. “Well anyway, I’m taking some of your boys down to the station and there’s some paramedics headed this way to deal with you, the group of overly scuffed up locals outside, and Jimmy Kirk junior over there.”

Chris’ mouth moves but no sound comes out.

“He’s James _Kirk!?”_ he eventually manages to squeak, much to his own mortification.


	2. An unconventional invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where are you going with this?" you ask  
> "I have no idea," I reply rather too truthfully.

Now Chris has been subjected to some truly rough and ready medical care during his time with Starfleet, because sometimes things go south when you least expect it and you find yourself haemorrhaging in a cave with nothing to save you other than a hypo of triox, your own ripped shirt, and the distant hope that you’ll be beamed up before the natives find you and finish the job. 

And Riverside Medical is worlds better than that.

But its still possibly the most under equipped and understaffed Earth hospital he’s ever been inside of. The biobed he’s laid on still has an actual bedsheet on it for Christ sake, instead of the red or blue silver-polymer rubber mats that he thought were a universal standard in this day and age. 

“And look up and to the right, just passed the top of my ear,” the young scruffy doctor instructs, tapping the tip of his aforementioned ear. Chris does so, grimacing as the bright white lights dazzle him for a second. 

“And down to the right one last time. Okay, you’ve got a mild concussion and a bit of edema around the bridge of your nose and left eye socket, but no-”

“-What’s edema?” Chris interrupts.

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you married to a doctor?” he asks with a not quite hidden trace of sarcasm colouring his voice. “Your next of kin is listed as an MD apparently.”

“Aren’t you a doctor yourself?” Chris snarks back, his own eyebrow raising. “Surely you know that medical jargon isn’t as sexy as the media would have you believe. My husband and I? We don’t talk shop at home.”

“Point taken,” he gruffs back, southern drawl a little thicker with the admission. “Edema is just the medical term for swelling. Its your blood vessels leaking fluid into the surrounding tissue.”

“Oh so basically I have one hell of a shiner,” Chris sighs. “I surmised as much from the blurry vision and general face ache.”

“Basically,” the young man smirks at him. “That, and a broken arm, two broken ribs, two fractured ribs, and a shoulder joint that probably still hurts like a bitch.”

“The nurse wasn’t exactly gentle with me no, when she was ramming it back in with no analgesics first.”

“Analgesics? What happened to “I don’t know medical jargon” huh? And it’s your own fault for getting it dislocated. The nurses are just doing their job. Try not to get beat up next time if you want better service.”

“He’s got excellent bedside manner, hasn’t he,” the next biobed over suddenly groans. Chris twitches, remembering that he’s not alone, and that his “roommate” is none other than the Kelvin Kid himself (shoved in with Chris apparently, by dint of being disliked by the locals _and_ by the cadets).

“Oh look, boy wonder’s awake again,” the Doctor drawls. “I hear you’re the one who started the shitshow down at the bar kid.”

“Nah, I just ended it,” Kirk groans. “With my face hitting the floor granted, but an end is an end. So how come I’ve been downgraded? I thought I ordered a private room? One with a seaview and a pretty girl or three. Or hot fella. I’m not fussy.”

“You started a bar fight that landed over 20 people in this backwater infirmary just as I was about to clock out for the night. You ain’t even close to deserving a private room ya clodhopper. Now sit tight while I go be finding one of the poor overworked nurses to come check your regen process.”

“He’s a real charmer isn’t he,” Kirk chuckles and then coughs painfully, wrapping an arm around his ribs.

“And you’re James T. Kirk,” Chris states mindlessly, still staring even while the boy tries to stop hacking up his lungs.

“Yeah. And?”

“And I couldn’t believe it when the local sergeant told me who you are.”

“And who am I then, Captain…? I’m sorry, I literally only know your first name. It’s all I can read on your chart from here, but calling you Captain Christopher will probably make me feel eight years old all over again, and being eight was shit”

“Pike,” Chris grunts. “Christopher Daniel Pike.”

“Never heard of you,” the kid deadpans.

“I’m 100 percent convinced of the truth of that statement,” Chris deadpans back, equally as insincere. 

The kid snorts and then pulls a face which clearly means he regrets laughing again, his hand coming up to massage his throat carefully. 

“To backtrack, you didn’t answer my question. So who am I?”

Chris opens his mouth to deliver his planned line concerning Kirk’s paternal parentage but then- stops. Suddenly it echoes around his head like a canned answer. Something everyone has probably said to him at one point or another in his life. _You’re your father’s son, and therefore, through no fault of your own, nothing more than an extension of him…_

“Depends on who you want to be son,” he says slowly instead. “No-one is more than the sum of their wildest dreams, but imagination is eternal and dreams never ending.”

“Poetic, but what if I want to be nobody for once?”

He sounds distant suddenly, like he’s asking himself more than Chris.

“Depends on what type of nobody you’re aiming for,” Chris replies, cocking his head. “You want to change your name and disappear? Bit hard in this day and age, but sometimes possible if you’re willing to get on a ship headed out of mapped federation space and have a hell of a lot of luck. But if you want to be someone who lives by his own name instead of the shadow of someone else’s? The kind of nobody where you become somebody but on your own terms? That’s a bit more achievable.”

“Lemme guess, “Starfleet makes somebodies” right? Definitely sounds legitimate. No recruitment propaganda here. No sir.”

Stars, he sounds even more bitter than Chris had expected him to. He swallows down the line about 800 lives, 12 minutes, and a dare too.

“Worked for me kid,” Chris smiles knowingly, rapidly realising that what this kid really needs a friend, not yet another person to judge him for trying to escape a crushing legacy. Someone to see that the best in him is already there and point it out, not reinforce the idea that he’s wasting his life. “Nobody thinks of my father first when they hear the name Pike anymore.” 

That, Chris is glad to see, does make him pause, a considering look passing over his face for a fraction of a second. 

“Plus you know,” he continues, in full recruitment flow now, “Starfleet is actually just a peace keeping humanitarian armada. Sure, you have to salute sometimes and ranks and respect are something you have to keep in mind, and not gonna lie, I’ve been shot at once or twice in my life. But honestly son, Starfleet is full of nerds. Nerds who want to seek out new life and civilisations and constantly chase the cutting edge of science and technology. You don’t even have to leave the planet to do it you know, if that’s what you really want. The academy is always after enthusiastic teaching staff to nurture the next generation of bright young minds. And well, nerds. They like nerds. Nerds make good space explorers, and good teachers.”

“Bright minds huh? Like the meatheads who landed you and I in here?”

“Well,” Chris smirks, “there’s always exceptions to every rule. But I’ve found that volunteering as a hand to hand instructor often gives you the opportunity to… clip the exception round the ear in front of all their friends and get away with it.”

“I think your ‘Fleet friends already beat you to it,” the doctor from before says as he strides back into the small clinic room with an exhausted looking nurse in tow. “There’s two bigwigs and a bushel of phaser carrying minions in the hallway wanting to collect the guy _you,”_ he points at Kirk, “bottled in the face. Oh and they want to talk to Captain face edema here about duty of care and civilian property damages.”

“We’re not allowed to call them minions anymore,” Chris smiles, “Not since they unionised. They’re trained and paid underlings now. Or security officers if you’re feeling fancy. Also I didn’t actually break any civilian property; I was too busy groaning on the floor in pain trying to avoid being kicked again.”

The nurse who’s fiddling with the regenerator strapped to Kirk’s chest frowns at him concerned as he says that, which just makes him smile wider. And then wince as his enflamed cheekbone throbs sharply. 

“Serves you right flyboy,” The doctor grunts at him, noticing his pained expression. His eyebrow rising judgementally at him again, he then picks up a hypo off a silver tray next to the head of the biobed and peers at the volume scale on the side critically. “And just so you know, with the way you talk, only reason someone would join the ‘Fleet is if they were desperate or stupid.”

“And are you?” Chris asks curiously, letting him push the hypo against his bicep. “Desperate or stupid or both? Starfleet could use a good doctor like you, and bedside manner doesn’t matter so much in a top of the line medbay. I mean, no offence to this quaint little clinic here, but clearly someone of your talent is being wasted in this place. And someone with your shining personality has got to have one hell of a skill set to offset it, or you’d have been forced out the profession years ago.”

“Wow that recruitment speech is even worse than the one I just got,” Kirk states dryly. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Yeah well, If you must know my ex-wife took half the damn planet in the divorce. Hell, she’ll have the whole planet if I agree to her alimony waiver terms. Then all I’ll have left is my Bones. And the deadline for that is in three hours. So excuse me if I’m not exactly the cheeriest cherry on the pie right now.”

“So both then,” Chris grins, his face feeling more blissfully numb by the second. “Hey look seriously, you can drop out at any point of the academy if you hate it and in the meantime you get a proper bed, decent food, and access to all the research equipment and funding you can dream of. Oh and lawyers. I’m told we have those, if you want to stick it to your ex. So think about it.”

“And what do I get?” Kirk pipes up. “If I come too?”

Chris turns his head to look at him once again. Stars, he might have actually convinced the kid despite his… unorthodox (cough, unprofessional) approach.

“The bed and decent food. That comes as standard. Or so I’m told. Maybe even a chance to clip some earholes? Less standard and more of an opt in scheme that one, but it can be arranged.” 

“And a puppy?” 

“I know a guy with a beagle or two who’d probably like to meet you if you actually mean that?” Chris offers hesitantly. The painkillers are making him feel floaty now, and he’s no longer sure if the lad is joking or not. 

“James Kirk’s soul, sold to the gentlemen in a bloodied and torn captain’s uniform!” the kid quips. “For the bargain price of a hot meal, a roof over his head, and the vague promise of a possible furball.”

“Y’all are insane,” The doctor drawls. “but I got nothing to lose so why the fuck not I suppose. McCoy, Leonard McCoy, and by god, am I gonna regret this.”

Chris laughs, and doesn’t stop even when Commodore Osprey comes storming into the room 3 seconds later with a face like thunder and a data Padd clenched in her hand like a baton.


	3. A rough relocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a vague plot begins to form out of the mist...  
> Now if only I knew what that plot was.

“One job Pike! You had one job!”

“It didn’t say anything about dealing with out of control barfights while nearly unconscious though in the description.”

“There never should have been a barfight in the first place! What the hell were you thinking! Letting a bunch of cadets you already knew were problematic _go off to a bar unsupervised!”_

Chris pulls a face. An unimpressed one.

“I was thinking that assholes or not, they’re still grown fucking adults and therefore responsible for their own actions. How was I supposed to know they would be even dumber than Jord’an Gorth of Akabar and smack around a townie!?”

“Who’s Jord’an Gorth?” Kirk asks with an obnoxious amount of good cheer given the current charged atmosphere.

“The worst Starfleet officer in history,” Chris and Commodore Osprey deadpan simultaneously.

They share a look of mirth while Kirk snorts and shuffles on his bed.

Osprey sighs deeply a second later, seeming to deflate. Her left hand rises and she scrubs it down her face, whole body slack with resignation.

“This whole episode is a shitshow,” she groans. “There’s three civilians threatening to press charges, two cadets have been arrested, the bar’s manager is insisting we pay for the damages or he’ll press charges too, and you’re now a bruised and broken mess as well as a depressed and anxious mess.”

“I’m not _that_ bad!” Chris protests. 

“No you’re awful and I’m dragging you to a therapist as soon as we get back to campus no matter how much you protest.”

“I just recruited these two guys!” he exclaims with a sweep of his cast-encased hand. “I’m still functioning and doing my job! Come on, that one over there is James T. Kirk!”

Osprey blinks at him and then swivels her head to stare at the occupant of the other biobed.

“You are?” she asks in surprise.

Kirk shrugs, still smiling benignly. 

_Actually, he’s probably still drunk_ Chris realises with a twist of amusement. _We were in a bar after all._

“Stop trying to distract me; you’re still going to a professional Captain,” she carries on sternly, pulling Chris’ attention back to the present. “You’re husband gave me explicit instructions regarding your wellbeing before he left on the Tanabar.”

“Your serotonin levels are almost non-existent,” McCoy chips in from where he’s been lurking unobtrusively in the corner for the last couple of minutes. “And -to simplify- you have the brain chemistry of someone who’s been vacillating between hyper awareness and total apathy a lot recently.”

“He has a bipolar diagnosis,” Osprey states with complete disregard for Chris’ medical privacy. He glares at her unimpressed. “And his live in babysitter has been gone for three months and will be gone for another nine. He’s a mess and I’m starting to wonder if he’s remembering to take his meds all the time.”

“He is,” McCoy injects, looking uncomfortable. “I can see – the levels in his blood are steady.”

“Can we not talk about this,” Chris growls defensively. 

“We _are_ going to talk about it,” Osprey fires back angrily. “Because your declining mental health lead to a fifty being brawl this evening. Now get your belongings and get off the bed. If you two really are recruits then you’ve also got five minutes to get your asses to the hospital main entrance or I’m leaving you behind. Welcome to Starfleet.”

And with that, she about turns and strides back out the door.

“My leg is still broken and I can’t walk,” Kirk says into the awkward silence left in her wake.

McCoy groans into his hand.

* * *

The ride back to the Riverside shipyards is silent and tense. 

He’s sat in the front passenger seat of the ‘Fleet standard aircar that Osprey borrowed from the yards, staring out the window and wincing every time a bump in the road jostles his aching arm and shoulder.

The painkillers McCoy gave him are already wearing off.

Kirk is sprawled in the back seats, seat belt disregarded and his eyes closed. His forced joviality from earlier is gone now, replaced with a grimace, and his pallor looks even worse in the pale moonlight filtering through the aircar’s sunroof. He too, looks like he could do with another hypo or five.

But McCoy had insisted he could make his own way to the shipyard in the morning and disappeared back inside the clinic as soon as the boot had been shut. 

So the two of them will just have to grit their teeth through it.

In a way, he’s glad for the pain though.

Because Osprey, while harsh with her delivery, was not wrong.

He _is_ a total mess.

He’s spiralling again and he knows it.

But the pain at least, is distracting him from dwelling on that too much.

This outing was supposed to be a distraction for him too he knows, something for him to focus on and remember who he is. Something to remind him of both his responsibilities and his capabilities. And while her judgement that it’s his fault that half a town ended up in hospital is completely unfair, it _is_ true that he should never have let the cadets go off on their own.

Well, letting them go out on liberty is not problematic in and of itself, but the fact that he let them go after they’d spent all week walking all over him and his authority is. If he’d been in a better state of mind and actually kept them in line throughout the excursion, then he could have let them go out unsupervised with no problem, because even if the fight had still occurred, it wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.

If he’d forced them to respect him, then when he walked into that bar to breakup the scuffle, they’d have stopped instead of just downing him and then escalating it.

Stars, everything is a total mess.

Including him.

“Get out of the car, and take Kirk to your room,” Osprey commands gruffly when they pull up and park next to the ‘Fleet bunkhouse. “I’m going to Comm command and see about getting you beamed back to San Fran tonight so you don’t have to shuttle over with the cadets in the morning.”

“I think I’d rather just sleep to be honest,” Chris mutters back tonelessly.

She pauses, one foot out of the open door and sighs deeply again. She stays with her back to him, but her head drops.

“Look Chris,” she starts, “I’m sorry for being so harsh. It’s been a stressful day and its not your fault you’re not well. I never should have sent you out here, and I should have paid more attention to you over the last few months. And I know I shouldn’t be blaming you for what happened at the bar because you never got a chance to do more than walk in and see the carnage but… I don’t know. I shouldn’t be blaming you.”

“It’s-“

“Don’t say its fine. It’s not fine. Now come on, Kirk is gonna start snoring any second now.”

“No I’m awake” the kid grumbles sleepily.

* * *

Osprey ends up getting two of the shipbuilders to help carry Kirk into the building, and the young man whines about it the entire way to Chris’ bunkroom.

“You’re pinching my armpit!” and “why’d you have to jiggle so much!” and “mind my leg, I broke it you know!” and so on and on and on and on.

If Chris were a less patient man (and if he had the use of either one of his arms right now), he would have strangled him less than two steps into the front entrance.

(it’s a damn good job he has one arm in a sling and the other in a bright purple cast) (he likes purple okay?) (if he’s got to be stuck with an antiquated cast until tomorrow, he’s gonna have it in a nice colour)

Thankfully he goes quiet again once he’s been dropped unceremoniously onto the other single bunk. Chris limps his way to own bed and sinks down onto it with a groan. 

Stars, he aches like a bitch. 

“I’m sorry,” Kirk says quietly after a few minutes.

Chris glances over at him, left eye protesting.

“What for kid. None of this shit is your fault.”

“I’m sorry for… hearing all of that. That stuff the Commodore was saying. S’private and I just sat there and let her talk.”

“Oh its fine kid. It’s not exactly a federation secret. I was all over the holos after- after Elison IX”

“That was almost as much a shitstorm as Tarsus IV. And I can personally vouch for how shitty that planet sized landfill site was.”

Chris chuckles morbidly.

“You want some clean clothes to change into son?” he asks eventually once the pain from his abused ribs becomes more immediate than his inappropriate amusement. 

“Why? You volunteering yours?”

“You volunteering yours _sir.”_ Chris corrects with a tired smirk. “And yes I am. So long as you don’t mind my weird fashion sense.”

“I haven’t signed anything yet _Christopher,”_ Kirk snarks back grinning. “I’m not a cadet yet, so I’m still free to sass you.”

“I got a feeling that not even graduation and commission will cut out that level of cheek. My bag’s over there, by the head door. Just- grab whatever.”

Kirk raises his head off the bed and peers towards the bathroom.

“That’s a long way for a man with a broken leg Christopher.”

“It’s literally right there! At the end of your bed! You don’t even have to get up! Just roll over and unzip it!”

“Help me old man! I’m a cripple!”

“Just roll over!”

“Help me Chrisbi wan Kenobi! You’re my only hope!”

“Stars help me, I’m so glad I never had kids,” Chris groans as he drags himself to his feet

* * *

* * *

Jim can’t sleep.

The Captain has been breathing quiet and rhythmically for a least a couple of hours now.

He looks like a total wreck. More than just a physical wreck.

Jim can feel that old instinct stirring in his chest again. The one that kept eight kids alive through pure stubborn willpower.

Goddammit, he _cannot_ pseudo-adopt a man twice his age. Especially not when he’s a walking (or well, not walking right now, thanks broken leg) train wreck himself. 

No matter how much his brain is screaming _Protect him! Protect him! Protect the poor man!_

He _cannot!_


	4. A friendly face

When Chris wakes to the sound of his comm beeping insistently, Kirk is watching him. Sitting on the edge of his bunk, splinted leg resting in the gap between them, staring intently at him.

Chris is instantly sure he hasn’t slept a wink.

He frowns back at the lad as he pulls an arm out from under his covers and pats around on the top of the bedside table until he manages to grab his padd. The lip of his cast catches on the edge of the worn polywood as he brings his arm back, and he hisses as his arm feels like it’s become molten agony for a second.

Kirk finally looks away.

“Here, I got it,” the kid mumbles, twisting to grab the dropped device off the floor from between them without moving his leg. “You broke more ribs than me, bending has gotta hurt more for you.”

“I’m not fragile son,” Chris rasps out annoyed.

“Didn’t say you were,” Kirk replies unfazed, holding the device out to him. 

Chris snatches it with a vague grunt of thanks, and then rolls over. The backlight stings his eyes when he taps it on, and he has to squint in order to make out Kaitlin Barry’s name scrolling across the screen.

“Pike here,” he grumbles, batting ineffectively at the sleep dust crunching in his eyes. 

“Chris you look like shit,” Kait blurts out as soon as the video has connected.

“Thanks, love you too dear,” he mutters back dryly.

“Sorry, I just… I just heard what happened and had to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine Kait,” he sighs wearily. “Bit sore but okay.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it for myself this afternoon.”

Chris frowns harder.

“You’re off planet. You- the plutonian outpost-”

“But I won’t be by noon. You think I’m going to sit out here at the edge of the solar system when I know my best friend is hurting?” 

“Kait, I’m fine.”

“You look like shit. I’m coming to San Fran. Try not to hurt yourself more in the meantime.”

The call cuts off before he can formulate a comeback so he turns his head to press his face into the pillow and groans.

Which turns out to be a mistake because ouch, bruised and swollen still.

“She literally just said don’t hurt yourself and now you’re moaning in pain,” Kirk chuckles from behind his back.

Chris reaches down, grabs a grimy sock from off the floor where he abandoned it last night.

And throws it over his back in the kid’s general direction.

* * *

Getting Kirk onto the shuttle is a challenge.

They should have stolen a hoverchair from the hospital, dear god.

* * *

Or just beamed back to San Francisco last night when they were offered that option.

_Dear god._

* * *

At least he falls back to sleep once they’re off the ground. Being asleep means he doesn’t have to be aware that he’s riding in the back with the cadets.

(No, he did not snore with his face was mashed into Kirk’s shoulder while he and McCoy passed a hip flask back and forth between them. Lies.)

(Lies!)

* * *

_Captain Pike_

Wassat?

_Captain Pike, the shuttle has landed._

Huh?

“Captain Pike, my name is Doctor Horta. Are you ready to get off the shuttle now?”

“ ‘m awake,” he slurs, rolling his shoulders. Nova, his neck has gone stiff.

“Can you stand?” The doctor asks as he watches her antenna twitch. 

“Just gimme a second,” he answers after a moment’s contemplation. And then, after a glance to his left, “Where’d Kirk and McCoy go?”

“To Starfleet Medical with my collegue. Which is where we’re also going when you’re ready.”

“Medical. Right. Still have broken bones.”

Taking a deep breathe and rolling his neck once more, he nods and then pushes himself slowly to his feet.

* * *

Three rounds of bone regeneration, an inflammatory hypo to the neck, and another dose of painkillers later.

And he finds himself being stared down again.

But not just by Commodore Osprey.

Nope.

Admiral Nogura and Admiral April are there too. His old commanding officers.

“You’re right Joanna,” April says as if Chris isn’t sat right there in front of him. “He’s beginning to look like a demented racoon.”

“I think that’s unfair to racoons,” Nogura disputes. “Racoons at least look vicious when ruffled.”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to the horrendous eyebags and untamed hair,” Osprey frowns. “Because honestly gentlemen they were worse last night. This is him cleaned up.”

“If you’re going to talk about me in the third person right in front of me, I’m just going to walk out,” Chris grits out. 

“How long are we taking him off duty for?” April asks, completely ignoring him. “When he was my XO the only way to stop him from still trying to work was to actually log the down time officially and threaten him with suspension and being confined to quarters if he tried to circumvent it.”

“I used to find rescinding his computer access clearance was also a pretty good way of getting him to behave,” Nogura nods along. 

“Best to give him something to keep himself entertained though,” April frowns. “Or he starts pulling things apart to see how they work. Don’t forget he trained and graduated as a warp engineer before you convinced him to go to Command School ‘Chiro.”

“Are you _taking notes!?”_ Chris asks Osprey outraged.

Nogura clicks his fingers and points towards the ceiling, still talking over Chris’ head.

“The Enterprise schematics. The outer shell is all finalised and in production out at Riverside, but the internals and structural bracing are still all up in the air. And most of the people working on it have switched over to the new Yorktown base project that just got approved.”

“AND!” Osprey grins with obvious excitement. “Kirk. We haven’t got a clue what to do with him until the new academic year starts in three months. But I looked at his profile last night while I was waiting for Cadets Giotto and Carrey to be released on bail, and not only are his aptitude tests off the charts, but he started taking some college credits in starship design a few years back. Never finished them but-”

“And sticking him in the engineering department with Disasterpher here will A, give him a chance to earn some early academy credits and get a head start so he can progress faster overall. B, give him a gentle introduction to Academy life because the poor guy looks rather rougher than ready right now.”

“And C,” Osprey finishes with a smirk,” mentoring the boy will keep Christopher occupied and the boy can make sure he eats, sleeps, and goes to his appointments.”

“Is that fair to Kirk though?” April asks. “Getting him to babysit a grumpy Captain for his first three months?”

“I’m reporting you all to HR!” Chris growls as he finally manages to shove his way through the hospital room’s door.

* * *

His apartment is cool and smells stale when he eventually manages to stab his access code into the door and stumble inside. He’s only been gone five days but the stasis mode has had time to kick in, leaving the air with that characteristic tang of anti-dust nanoparticles. 

Kicking his reclaimed duffel bag against the side of the couch, he looks with a grimace at the stack of Chinese takeaway cartons on the coffee table that he’d forgotten about before he left. He hadn’t come back here since before he went to the physics department to start that third binge, so they’ve been mouldering away there for some time.

There’s an assortment of abandoned coffee mugs on the table too, at least two of them still with some long-gone-cold liquid in the bottom. 

Phil’s favourite blanket is heaped on the couch as well. The red and blue striped one that’s almost worn through in some patches. Left where Chris had abandoned it after spending the night wrapped up in it, breathing in the fading scent of Phil’s aftershave.

Chris can feel his lip curling up both in anger and resentment at himself, so he kicks his boots off in a huff and stalks straight through to the bathroom. He hadn’t bothered to shower last night, despite the blood drying on his skin like a crust, and Starfleet Medical giving him a cursory swipe down with a handheld sonic at lunch hadn’t stopped him from feeling completely grimy. 

But once he’s stood there in front of the glass shower door in just his boxers with his towels, he just feels numb again.

Phil’s bottle of citrus shower gel stares at him accusingly from the back of the cubicle.

He turns around and goes and collapses on the couch instead, pulling Phil’s blanket up to his face again.

* * *

Someone is pushing the door buzzer insistently. 

He doesn’t want to move.

Doesn’t want to get up to answer it.

He sighs and does it anyway.

“No, you really do look like shit,” Kait tells him pointedly as soon as the door has slid open. “Have you even eaten today?”

Chris opens his mouth to tell her yes, he absolutely has but then can’t actually think of anything he’s eaten since that bag of ready salted crisps yesterday lunch time and-

“You haven’t have you,” she sighs, pushing her way past him into the front room. “Right. Well at least that’s easily fixed Go… find some clothes. Or pants at least dude, we’re going out.”

And oh yeah. 

Still in just his boxers.

Not that Kait will be at all bothered about that, having lived with his gay ass all the way through the academy. 

“Actually no,” Kait suddenly changes her mind, staring at his living space with an air of mild disgust. “Go shower. With water, not just sonics. While I clean all this trash up and comm your boss again.”

Chris huffs, but does as he’s told.

* * *

“As soon as I got out of the taxi I could hear the yelling,” Chris recounts, half a meatball in his mouth and his fork waving around for emphasis. He pauses to shovel up some more spaghetti onto it, feeling much more alive and alert than he has does in a while. “There was this long pained ooooo noise that the crowd made and then more jeering so I jogged up to the entrance and-”

“Chris babe you need to chew.”

He does so and swallows and-

“-and I pushed the doors open and three of the cadets had this blonde kid bent back over a table letting another dickhead smack his teeth in. So then-”

Kait grabs his wrist and stops him from tipping another meatball onto the floor.

“And then?” she prompts once he’s shoved a couple more forkfuls of pasta down his throat, splashing tomato on his face in his sudden hunger.

“And then I was gonna whistle like how Nogura does with his fingers and someone just- rammed their elbow into my temple and I went down like a sack of bricks.”

“Ouch,” Kait winces in sympathy, eating her own food with far more politeness than Chris is managing. 

“Yeah and then next thing I know someone is stamping on my chest and throwing a table at my face. All gets a bit hazy from there. I know I got kicked around some more, and I know I punched back at least a couple of times. Got some Ribozonian woman right in her tentacle cluster when she tied to throw me over the bar.”

“Least we both know you can put some muscle behind your fists,” Kait grins, knocking him affectionately on his bicep with her own knuckles.

“I’m depressed, not wasting away,” he jokes tonelessly. “I’m not quite dead yet!”

“Christ I forgot how morbid your sense of humour is.”

“You love it,” he chuckles.

“I love it more when its further from the truth. Keep eating, you actually are wasting away and I want to hear about how you managed to recruit the kelvin kid. You need to not die of starvation to do that.”

* * *

* * *

“Yeah I know the basics,” Jim nods, looking at the blueprint outlines. “But I’m going to need more training before I’d trust myself to start designing the inside of a Starfleet flagship.”

“Further training will be part of the package.”

“And all I’ve got to do in return is mostly follow ‘Fleet rules and look after Captain Pike a bit?”

“Yes, and you’ll get a single cadet dorm room as a bonus seeing as you’re not a fresh faced eighteen-year-old.”

“Well,” Jim breathes, “honestly I was gonna look after Pike anyway with or without your permission. So you got yourself a deal Admiral.”

“Glad to do business with you kid. Now scram, before that southern doctor fella comes looking for you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed my tags are shit. I'm taking improvement suggestions lol


	5. A Dark Descent

Kait scrubs his apartment from top to bottom for him and makes him sleep in his actual bed rather than on the couch. He still takes the red and blue blanket with him and he sleeps on Phil’s pillows, but sleep he does.

And when he finally makes himself get out of bed the next morning, Kait’s there again with a big box of breakfast pastries. 

“How did you get in?” Chris asks. Not because he’s concerned, but because he’s curious.

“Added my profile to your computer system last night.”

“Don’t you need my admin codes to do that?”

“Babe you’re still using the same codes and passwords that you’ve been using since you were nineteen. The second set I tried gave me access to both yours _and_ Phil’s profiles.”

“I like my codes though. They’re easy to remember.”

“They’re easy to guess too.”

“I’m not changing them!”

“Oh god no don’t do that. You’ll never be able to access any of your accounts for anything ever again. You don’t even remember your own birthdate half the time; you’d forget a new set of codes instantly.”

“So why are you complaining then!? Stop telling me what to do!”

“I’m not!” Kait snaps back.

Then she pauses and takes a deep breath, staring over his shoulder at the cabinets above the TV. She blinks for a long second, and then visibly forces her hands to unclench. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a worthless ass,” Chris mumbles miserably, suddenly overcome with guilt.

“You’re not worthless honey,” she sighs, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. Her hand pushes on the back of his head, until his face comes to rest on the top of her shoulder. “Come on, lets take these pastries down to the bay and we can lay out a plan of action.”

* * *

“Alright, lets go back to absolute basics,” Kait states decisively.

They’re sat at a round metal table outside of a quaint little café, fresh sea air calm around them, birds trilling happily above them, and early summer sun shining down upon them. It’s warm enough that even Chris has forgone a jacket and rolled the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows.

He has a large mug of hot chocolate in front of him, no whipped cream but a sprinkling of marshmallows, and Kait gave him the little cinnamon and caramel biscuit that came with her latte. 

“How basic are we talking,” Chris asks gruffly, pushing some of the biscuit crumbs around on his saucer with his teaspoon.

“Like. Basic basics. Condescendingly basic. Stuff that you’ve known since you were fifteen and first diagnosed basics.”

Chris gives her a look. A judgemental look.

Kait just grins back.

“One,” she starts. “You have bipolar disorder. Two, that means you have up and down mood swings, and periods of transition between the two.”

Then she looks at him expectantly.

“Three,” he sighs reluctantly, “I’m currently at the tail end of a transition period headed for a bad down swing.”

“Four,” she picks up, when he fails to continue. “Usually your highs and lows last a year to a year and half before you start to flip the other way, and five, your highs and lows are actually fairly stable and manageable since you changed to the new medications the federation released when you turned twenty-one. Come on, your turn again.”

“Kait,” he moans, “how is this helping.”

“We’re establishing where you’re at so we can decide we’re you need to go from there. Now tell me what number six should be.”

“Ugh fine. Six, my highs and lows are mostly manageable thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, but I go off the rails sometimes when a transition period catches me off guard.”

“Because…?” Kait prompts, even though she knows they both already know.

“Because my meds are designed to either bring me up or down to normal neurotypical levels, and thus are ineffective when I’m yoyoing back and forth because no one, including my own nervous system, can predict whether I’ll need a down-leveller or an up-leveller.”

“And if you flip flop back and forth between the two several times in one day, its even worse…”

“Because ultimately my brain then throws a hissy fit and decides to give up making chemicals at all, my serotonin levels drop through the floor, and I end up, well, like this,” Chris finishes, indicating himself. “Regardless of what direction I’m swinging in.”

“And…” Kait prompts again, looking expectant.

“And what?”

“And it’s even worse again if the transition is coming from high down to low and was triggered by a change in environment that caught you off guard.”

“Well that too I suppose, but I’m not completely dependant upon Phil you know. I managed fine without him until after we graduated. We didn’t even meet until during my second shipboard posting remember?”

“I didn’t mention Phil actually, but yes. Good example of an environmental change. And relevant to your current predicament. Let’s talk about that.”

“Let’s not,” Chris grumps, swiping his mug up unsteadily and spilling hot liquid on his hand.

“You were on an unusually long high when Phil was asked to fill in for Doctor Pat’roka on the USS Tanabar while she’s off on maternity leave,” Kait carries on anyway. “And you were still on that high for about how long after he left?”

“Let’s not,” Chris repeats more harshly.

“Babe how long?”

“Kait-”

“Babe how long?”

“Kait-!”

“I will just ask Osprey if I have to. I will call her right now.”

“Why does it matter?”

“How long? I’m getting my comm out now-”

“Seriously, why does it-”

“-and I’m finding her frequency in my contacts log.”

“Less than a month okay! Three fucking weeks before I found myself staring into the fountain base in Kingston Square on campus in the pouring rain just- doing nothing alright! Just fucking standing there staring at my reflection not able to think about a single goddamn thing!”

“Okay honey,” Kait says gently, not at all scared or disturbed by his angry outburst. Her hand settles on his shoulder and the comm she had in her other hand has vanished again. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry.”

Chris feels like he’s going to cry which is ridiculous, so he scrubs his hands up and down his face roughly. 

“Here, drink your chocolate before it goes cold.”

“Colder than my black dead heart?” he quips shakily, trying to break the tension.

“Did you change your name to Komack while I was away?” she laughs back.

* * *

“Hi!” a cheery smile with blue eyes near-shouts in his face later that day.

Chris leans back and blinks and the blue-eyed blur resolves into a grinning James Kirk.

“Cadet?” Chris greets with no little surprise.

“I brought mac and cheese!”

“You brought mac and cheese… to the ‘Fleet pharmacy?”

The kid shrugs, looking much healthier in new clean clothing and freshly trimmed hair.

(Which reminds him, hair cut for himself desperately needed)

“Yeah I asked where you are and got told you were on your way to collect your prescriptions, so I jogged here after you.”

“So you came with mac and cheese. Into Starfleet Medical? Why were you even looking for me?”

“Because I made it fresh especially for you! I even put it in one of those ever-warm bowls! I had to steal that from the mess hall kitchen though so don’t go shouting about it.”

“Did you actually just admit to me, a Starfleet Captain, that you’ve been stealing things from the Fleet kitchen?”

“No, I said I stole one thing for your benefit. That’s completely different,” the boy waves away with another sunny smile. 

“It’s… really not,” Chris replies incredulously.

“So did you pick up your stuff up from the pharmacy counter yet?” Kirk carries on gabbling. “Only I need to grab my own so if you haven’t we could go together! And then I wanna show you my dorm room cause they gave me a single and it has an en-suite shower room.”

“No I haven’t yet, I was just- hang on don’t change the subject! You can’t go stealing whatever you fancy from-!”

“-Come on sir,” the kid interrupts with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “Give it five more minutes and the queue will be half way to the moon and back. I’d rather avoid that and get my stuff now!”

Completely against all common sense and knowing damn well that he’s going to be stared at, Chris lets him tug him further into the pharmacy building by the arm.

* * *

The mac and cheese is quite good actually. 

Even if it is the second day in a row that he’s had pasta for tea. And even if he is eating it sat awkwardly on the edge of Kirk’s unmade bed. 

“So he gave me a set of blueprints and a load of coursework booklets, said he’d get a design lab cleared out for us, and then gave me a credit chit and told me to go amenities shopping.”

“Who’s “he”?”

“Some Admiral. Older human guy, white hair.”

“That describes almost half of the flag officers son.”

“I know right? For a federation wide organisation, Starfleet Command has a strong human male bias problem. Ship command too! Did you know that more than two thirds of starship Captains are human, and that of those, fifty-five percent are white cismen?”

“My best friend is an Earth-raised Boraalan transwoman. Trust me I know. In more detail than strictly required.”

“Kaitlin Barry is a Boraalan?” Kirk asks in surprise. “I thought they were a pre-warp society? Isn’t that like, a major break of the Prime Directive?”

“They’re barely above the level of Earth’s medieval period, development wise. No-ones got any idea how twenty-two of them ended up on Vulcan, least of all them themselves. And then we couldn’t exactly just send them back to their planet could we? They’d seen an advanced society and wanted to know more, and they knew that if they went back they’d be executed as witches or some other nonsense. Especially as we errrr, gave them all vaccinations to stop them from dying from our various microscopic space beasties and made them pretty much immortal by their own standards.”

“And I presume then, that Commander Barry’s parents were in that group that just… appeared out of nowhere?”

“Yeah. Not that they were a couple at the time, but I should imagine being displaced like that draws you closer to the slices of home that remain.”

“No wonder she’s so badass! Did you know that she designed the reserve polarisation cooling system that you find in all shuttles now!? It uses positron gamma-“

“Emissions coupled with re-ionised andorian glacian water to channel electromagnetic photon waves. I know kid, she drew the first draft of those blueprints while refusing to get off my bed. I’d just got back from a week in the artic doing deep-cold command training and all I wanted to do was curl up under my covers and hibernate in the warm for a week.”

“You practically deserve it naming after you then,” Kirk chuckles, grating even more cheese onto the last few bites of his food.

“What’s it’s engineering registry name kid?”

“The Cridanpik Sys- oh.”

Chris laughs at his expression for several long minutes.

* * *

“Hey darling,” Chris sighs at the holopic he’s holding. “Two months, two weeks, and three days since the Tanabar went to tactical radio silence. Sorry for not calling for a couple of days.”

He rolls over on the bed, carefully avoiding looking at the chronometer again. It had said 03:54 last time he checked. The comm in his other hand carries on blipping quietly, letting him know the message record system is still active. 

“I met a kid a couple of days ago. Two of them actually, though the doctor of the pair is actually old enough that I probably shouldn’t call him that. I think you’d like them, both of them. The younger one is actually James Kirk. He spent the evening piling cheesy pasta onto my plate and trying to pick my brains about warp engineering. I think he wants straight onto command track like his father, but maybe I can convince him to do a minor too.”

He carefully puts the holopic back next to the lamp on the left bedside cabinet, and flips his pillow so its cool side up yet again. 

“I’m not doing so great to be honest love. I’ve been ignoring it, denying it really. But I got into a fight -an actual fist fight, believe it or not good lord. And it all sort of just… came crashing down around me. Osprey realised I was more of a mess than I’d been admitting too and set April and Nogura on me. Then Kait found out and insisted on coming dirtside to force me to take care of myself. And well. I’m a mess.”

He rolls back on to his back, and sighs quietly into the dark, his arms flopping out either side of him.

“Fuck, I’m a right mess Phil,” he repeats into the silence. “And you’re not going to get this message for six fucking months.”

* * *

His pillow slowly dampens with tears, and he doesn’t sleep all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He cry, I cry, we all cry together
> 
> Don't worry, he'll get better from now (:
> 
> PS. possibly the last one-a-day post. Going out tomorrow, and then I'm back to work on the 2nd. I've been writing it a chapter a day and posting as soon as it's finished soooo...


	6. A positive progression?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I have gathered you here today to impart a small piece of wisdom to you all. It is my hope that you will heed my next words with the care they deserve, and consider the negative impact upon your persons should you chose to disregard them.
> 
> Do not decide to give your fic alliterative titles.
> 
> You will regret it.
> 
> Yours Passionately,  
> Mr Edward InsaneSociopath

He’s still lying on his back atop the covers staring at the ceiling long after the sun has risen and begun casting a low glow across the foot of the bed from beneath the not quite closed blind. He once again contemplates calling out to the computer to darken the glass behind it, but his willpower remains absent and so the thought is never vocalised.

Instead, he mumbles half-heartedly and pats around under a discarded pillow, trying to locate the Padd he’d shoved under there some hours ago. He finds it instead beneath the top edge of the checked covers, and then holds it up to peer at the time displayed on its screen.

06:48

Not as late as he thought it would be.

Chris huffs and lets his hand and the device flop back on to the mattress. His eyes close again and he pushes his head back against Phil’s pillow; he knows sleep will continue to evade him, but he thinks lying silence is better than restless shuffling at least.

The seconds continue to tick on by in the stillness.

* * *

Chris doesn’t bother to move from the bed until the fourth time the door buzzer is pushed in less than two minutes. Still in his dark navy sleep pants, he shuffles out the bedroom and grumbles his way over to the access panel. Stabbing the open button grumpily with his thumb, he fully intends to snap at whomever is waiting on the other side of the door for making him get up.

Only when it finally does slide open, young Jim Kirk is stood there with a bashful grin and a synthpaper bag and he can’t bring himself to shout after all.

“Good morning sir!” the boy chirps entirely too cheerfully immediately. “I brought jam doughnuts! Raspberry jam!”

“…what? Jam?” Chris mutters in tired confusion as Kirk near skips straight into the apartment.

“Jelly doughnuts,” he clarifies in a more grave tone of voice. “Only I was introduced to Admiral Reed’s daughter on my way over here and she threatened me with violence if I called jam jelly ever again. She laughed afterwards and said she was teasing, but I’m still afraid for my limbs so it’s gonna be jam from now on forever more even though I've never been to the UK in my life let alone lived there.”

“I know what jam is kid,” Chris grumbles as he thumbs the door shut again. “And old Admiral Malcolm Reed might skin you alive, but Olivia Reed won’t. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Still not taking my chances,” Kirk snorts as he takes his jacket off and throws it over the back of the desk chair to his left with far too much familiarity even _without_ considering that it’s his first time here. “Which cupboard is your coffee in? You have the look of a man in desperate need of caffeine.”

“What are you doing here Kirk?” Chris sighs exasperatedly as he watches the lad kick his boots off too and then go striding off into the open plan kitchen

“Our lab is ready; got a comm message late last night,” he replies, quickly opening and closing the cupboards above the worktops “Well, it’s empty and been soniced at least. I’ve got no idea if there’s even any desks or worktables in it, let alone any computer terminals. I sent a reply asking but haven't heard back again yet. So are you a dark roast guy or a golden roast guy?” the kid then adds as he turns and holds up the two jars of beans in question.

“I’m a what the hell are you doing barging into my flat at the ass-crack of the morning guy,” Chris growls back, stalking forward and yanking Phil’s jar of coffee out of the boy’s hands and shoving it back in the cupboard.

“It’s gone half nine,” Kirk says plainly as he turns back around and grabs two plain white mugs from out of the same cupboard, somehow not phased at all by Chris’ harsh tone and words. “Sugar? Milk? Creamer?”

Chris forces himself to take a deep breath and unclench his fists; it’s not Kirk’s fault that he’s a miserable depressed grumpy bastard and he shouldn’t inflict his worthless bullshit on him.

“Tiny splash of creamer,” he grunts as yanks out one of the breakfast bar stools and climbs onto it. He then drops his head down onto his crossed arms and sighs deeply, only half listening to Kirk's continued chatter as he starts opening drawers in search of spoons and eventually starts the coffee machine whirring. Less than a minute later and Chris hears the distinctive scrape of a full mug being pushed towards him, and then the rich aroma reaches his senses.

Turning his head to look at the mug next to his elbow only makes the scent stronger and more compelling, and so with a huff he sits back up and hooks it towards him.

“S’good,” he admits with a grunt after the first scolding sip. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome sir,” the kid grins back, making Chris twitch in surprise by clapping a warm calloused palm down onto his bare shoulder. “Do you want a doughnut now or something else first? You've got cereal if you want a bowl pouring, or there's a loaf of bread and some bagels in your stasis box if you're a toast guy. Or,” he draws the word out with a thoughtful look, “if you trust me not to burn your apartment block down, I'm not bad with a frying pan?”

“Not hungry,” Chris grunts again. He slurps at his coffee quickly after saying the words to avoid having to expand on his answer. He _is_ kind of hungry, but food sounds… unpalatable right now.

But that makes Kirk turn to stare at him intently, his brow furrowing into a frown, crystal blue eyes burning with some disquieting emotion. Chris suddenly suspects that this is an argument he's not going to win despite being the senior of the two in rank, age, _and_ experience.

“It's a well documented fact that I have understandable issues with food sir,” the kid says firmly, placing his hands on the edge of the breakfast bar next to him and clearly gripping hard. “While the specifics of why those issues exist are still classified due to the involvement of other individuals who are currently still minors, the fact that they _do_ exist is written plain to see for anyone in Starfleet with basic command clearance who cares to so much as glance at my federation ID profile. As I know that you definitely have looked at my profile, I would kindly ask that you therefore not intentionally go without regular food while in my presence.”

Kirk's unrelenting stare continues to bore into him as he remains silenced by shock; all their previous interactions have been tinged with an almost absurd amount of informality and a dreamlike surreal haze (see: recruitment method, stolen ‘Fleet kitchen equipment, hand holding in the fleet pharmacy…). But this conversation is suddenly laden with palpable seriousness. Kirk's words and request are wholeheartedly genuine, not a trace of jest or teasing about them.

“Kait did my grocery shopping so there's probably some high protein cereal bars somewhere,” he sighs eventually. “Nova knows which cupboard she'll have put them in though.”

“I'll find them!” Kirk grins sunnily, sombre mood gone as fast as it had appeared.

* * *

The lab space they’ve been assigned is deep in the bowels of Starfleet’s mechanical engineering department, below everything except the building’s own maintenance levels. It’s a larger room than Chris was expecting to get, and the lighting is all brand new and daylight standard. An old but meticulously clean standing height metal desk is positioned in the centre of the room but there’s no other furniture or equipment at all, and even the walls are blank and unadorned except for the regulation necessary alarm system installed above the door. 

Chris strolls to the lone desk with his hands in his jeans pockets, having decided to take full advantage of his “medical leave” by forgoing his uniform. Kirk stays by the door, chatting animatedly with the Commodore and Lieutenant that escorted them down here. Chris doesn't pay much attention to their conversation, more interested in thinking about what equipment and furnishing they're going to need and imagining how it will best fit into the space around them. 

“Yo Captain!” Kirk suddenly calls as if reading his mind.“You prefer screens or projection holos?”

“Screens,” Chris replies gruffly as he shakes his thoughts back into the present and stalks back over to the small group. “More tactile, easier to keep data organised with them, take up less space.”

“Even for 3D modelling?” The commodore asks him with one eye squinting. “There's a lot of that involved in star ship design.”

“I'm not opposed to screens with built in projectors for that purpose,” Chris shrugs. “I just like feeling something solid under my fingers while I work wherever I can.”

“Can we go 50/50?” Kirk asks with a tilt of his head. “And maybe get some haptic gloves for the projectors?”

“Haptics is a possibility, but they'll take a long time to calibrate and will only work for the designated user and only in this room,” the engineering lieutenant chips in. “They'll have to be security tagged and you'll have to sign medical waivers. You damage your finger nerves by wearing them for too long, that's on you not us.”

“We'll discuss it,” Kirk nods after a glance at Chris. “You happy with my general amenities list though?”

“Nothing I object to given the circumstances,” the Commodore nods back. “Anything you specifically want Captain?”

Wondering what an Earth Kirk has requested that apparently requires a _given the circumstances, _Chris shrugs.__

“Coffee machine would be nice I guess,” he gruffs. “Wouldn't say no to a replicator either, but I understand if you’d rather we just use the ones in the nearest common room.”

“Both are already on Kirk's list and have been approved,” the Commodore snorts. “Alright then, let's get you added to the security biometrics for the door and then add your profiles to the building’s computer. Basic furniture should start arriving in an hour or so, and the first of the computing and design equipment at some point this afternoon. You've got the rest of today and tomorrow to get everything set up and yourselves settled in, and then I'll sign the project work over to you first thing on Monday morning.”

Kirk shoots Chris a grin that's full of excited anticipation, and Chris tells the snarky malicious voice in the back of his head to shut up and let him enjoy the moment for once.

* * *

“Well this is gonna be swish,” Kait grins as Chris shows her into the new lab space that afternoon.

Kirk is stood on a desk over by the back wall with his red cadet jacket once again discarded and an old fashioned manual screwdriver clasped in his teeth. He glances over and waves with the hand not buried in the wiring behind an opened up access panel, and Chris absentmindedly waves back.

“You've got all the mod cons, wowsers!” Kait laughs as she slides over to what Chris guesses is going to be a kitchenette. 

“Is that an actual kitchen sink?” Chris asks loudly as goes to have a look himself. “I didn't think there was any plumbing down here?”

“There wasn't,” Kirk calls back. “But I asked nicely and Admiral Nogura got a plumber team to come down over lunch time and extend one of the fresh water pipes from the floor below for us.” 

“He can successfully sweet talk Admirals,” Kait stage whispers. “We’re keeping him and using him to get away with questionable deep space missions. Add him to the crew roster right now.”

“Bold of you to assume I'll ever pass the psych exam needed for ship command ever again,” Chris snipes pessimistically.

“Bold of you to assume you _won’t,”_ Kait counteracts with immediately as she crouches down to inspect the back of what Chris suspects is an undercounter refrigerator. “If you got through it after the chronic meltdown of 2232, then you can get through it again.”

“We don’t talk about 2232 trainwreck Pike,” Chris says dryly. “25 year old Pike never existed.”

Kait snorts as she stands back up and shoves the fridge slowly across the floor until it’s in line with the sink unit under the slab of worktop, and then hooks the cable to the nearby output terminal with an engineer’s practiced efficacy.

“Those of us who were on the _Intrepid_ with you beg to differ honey.”

Snorting himself at her teasing tone, he grabs the shiny new replicator and pushes it onto the worktop before contacting it to the terminal too, frowning when a message stating no codes have been stored scrolls across the small display screen on its front a second later.

“Fine I’ll go grab my Padd and install some,” he huffs moodily, glaring at it. What kind of replicator comes with an empty memory bank in this day and age!?

“A who what when where how now?” Kait asks with an amused look.

“Replicator has absolutely nothing preprogrammed into it for some reason,” Chris grumbles as he walks towards where he left his jacket hanging up. “Just gonna grab my Padd and- JAMES KIRK IS THIS AN ACTUAL BED FRAME!?”

“Yep!” the kid calls back cheerily, hopping down off the table finally. “Bunk beds! Your sleeping schedule is almost as shit as mine, so I figured we could bully each other into a semblance of normality! Or at the very least we’ll have somewhere to nap when one of us inevitably crashes in the middle of the day.”

Chris stares at the pile of wooden beams and slats, screws, and bolts in mute horror.

“I’m claiming the top bunk,” he chokes out eventually, wincing at how ridiculous that sounds.

“No problem Capitano,” Kirk laughs back.

* * *

* * *

Jim watches in quiet satisfaction as Captain Pike slowly cheers up as the hours slide on by. 

He’d been really concerned this morning; Pike clearly hadn’t slept at all and was suffering for it. His statement that he wasn’t hungry had been particularly worrisome as he’d been able to hear his stomach rumbling from almost a mile away. Worrisome enough that Jim only felt a little guilt for manipulating him into eating with his own trauma (not that anything he’d said had been untrue. Rather too truthful actually if he’s being honest) (He still can’t quite believe he actually found the courage to say what he did).

But once he’d managed to get food into him and convinced him to shower and put clothes on, he’d started to improve. Some colour had started to reappear in his cheeks, and he’d started responding to Jim’s deliberately rambling and cheerful chatter with more than just grunts, one word replies, and the occasional snapped and angry sentence. His shoulders had lost a lot of the rigid tension, and he’d spent less and less time staring absently into space.

He’d stopped looking so distant and lost, so apathetic and empty.

Watching him now as he and his best friend spit sarcasm at each other with grins as they wire god knows what to the now-assembled bed frame, Jim lets himself relax a little.

He knows it’s going to be an uphill struggle, and that some days will be start worse than this one did and worsen further. But he watches now and knows that there’s a hill stop to struggle towards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chief of Engineering Kaitlin Barry is a Transwoman of colour, and you will fail to prise that headcanon even from me cold dead hands.


	7. An Encouraging Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be [puppers](https://free-classifieds-usa.com/oc-content/uploads/786/63032.jpg) :O

He wakes with a jolt.

It's Sunday morning and Chris immediately feels restless. The covers are too warm, his sleep clothes irritating where they've slightly bunched up, and the pillow he seems to have pulled against his chest in his sleep is lumpy and uncomfortable where he's now lying on it.

Rolling over onto his back with an unhappy yawn, he paws at the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes in irritation and then winces as a full body stretch makes his back and left shoulder crack painfully. 

He only manages to lie there for another 20 seconds before he huffs loudly and swings his legs out of bed. Grumbling as he stomps to the bathroom, his hands and fingers feel twitchy as he rubs sleep grit out his eyes.

He yawns widely again as he leans over the sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

“Haircut,” he tells himself sternly with a pointed finger, voice low and gravelly with sleep. 

His next stop after the bathroom is the kitchen for coffee. Feeling a bit more alert after quickly scrubbing his teeth and splashing some cold water on his face, he whistles some jaunty tune as he grabs a mug and tops the bean compartment of the coffee maker back up. The wood laminate under his feet is smooth and refreshingly cool, and he briefly entertains the idea of going and donning a pair of woolly socks just so he can slide about on it.

He doesn't though, opting to grab some fruit from the fridge stasis box instead, still whistling as it takes it and his now ready coffee to the breakfast bar.

“Hey Phil!” He says cheerfully once he's opened up a long distance Comm to Phil's message box. “Weirdly cheerful this morning. Maybe Jim Kirk's unrelenting upbeat attitude has rubbed off on me a little. Sorry I didn't leave a message last night, but Kait and the kid dragged me out on the town. I think Kait had to go put Kirk to bed at the end of the night he was so wasted. I didn’t actually drink anything other than soda. Didn’t think it was a great idea with the kid drinking enough for four of us. I had fun anyway because we just talked about warp engines all night and ate nachos and fries. Kid’s a mine of information, and he was soaking up everything Kait and I were teaching him like a Betazoid sponge; I think I’m really gonna enjoy working with him actually.”

He pauses and peels _all_ the stringy bits of pith off another slice of clementine. Phil always calls him a fussy bugger for doing it, but Chris really doesn’t like the feel of them in his mouth.

“Speaking of, the lab’s all set up. But I already told you most of that in Friday night’s message I think? Still can’t quite believe Kirk asked for bunk beds of all things. If we plumbed in a small bathroom, you could live in that lab full time. Not that I’d want to. I like better when you’re in it too, but I _do_ like our apartment. It’s _ours,_ you know?”

He stops again and watches the blinking light on his Padd for a few long seconds. 

“I miss you so much honey,” he says eventually quietly. “I love you so much and I can’t wait to hear you and see you again. Come home to me safely as soon as you can. Pike out.”

He still feels jittery and too awake, but he eats the rest of his fruit in silence.

* * *

The jittery feeling gets bad enough that he throws on some actual clothes and decides to go for a walk. 

It’s a cool day outside despite it being the height of summer. A few wisps of cloud float slowly overhead, and a fairly strong breeze drives up the sea cliffs and weaves its way over and between the buildings of San Francisco. The heat of the sun is nice on his face and neck, but Chris is still glad he put a flannel shirt on over his t-shirt as he wanders aimlessly away from campus and the fleet residential blocks.

He stops for ice cream when he ends up in the park surrounding Starfleet Medical a couple of hours later and decides to make his way down the little Land’s End Labyrinth above Mile Rock Beach. Chris isn’t quite sure how the old loose rock art piece survived the horrific bombing of World War Three, but he still remembers Phil’s delight the first time they came across it and the sheltered cove and small cave below. 

The old bonfire pits down on the beach have obviously been cleaned and restocked recently when he looks down over the small cliff edge, and the damaged section of log seating has been repaired and returned back above the waterline. 

Deciding he’ll go down there and sit for a while as there’s not many tourists around, he steps carefully through the presi-resin covered maze first and takes a couple of pics with his Padd to send to Phil. Then he turns and walks the short distance back across the cliff face to the nearest track down. 

“Christopher!” 

Just as he approaches the water’s edge, a familiar voice echoes across to him over the wind and gentle swish of breaking waves. 

“Sir?” he shouts back, turning and fruitlessly trying to locate the Admiral calling his name.

“Up here, by the labyrinth!”

And sure enough when he glances up and squints through the afternoon sun, he spots Jonathan Archer waving down at him.

“Come on up!” the older officer calls down to him, gesturing enthusiastically. “I need to talk to you!”

“But I just got down here old man!” he yells back with a laugh.

“You’ve got young legs! Hop to!”

* * *

Archer drags him back to his house in Seacliff, the very upmarket district adjacent to the Land’s End park. Chris has always felt slightly out of place in the area Jon lives in, much more used to the metal and clear aluminium of starships and standard officer housing alike, than the large 20th century detached miniature mansions now surrounding him. Even his family home in the Mojave Desert is a new build, designed and constructed by his parents during his early childhood. 

“Take Tucker’s lead for a second while I get the door,” Jon insists as they hop up the three steps onto his property. Tucker wags enthusiastically as Chris does so, the little beagle looking up at him with his tongue lolling. “There should be a forcefield active at the far end of the hallway son, but watch out for escaping pups just in case Malcolm’s been playing with it and switched it off again.”

“Pups?” Chris asks, “I didn’t know Nova had had another litter.”

“Yeah, nearly three weeks ago now,” Jon chuckles. “Malcolm’s gone completely soft over them, been spending more time here than his own place.”

“I might follow suite,” Chris gasps as he steps into the house behind the old Admiral. “Hello tiny babies,” he coos as four of the small fluff balls come waddling over in curious excitement. He drops to one knee and lets them sniff his hands and rub against his legs.

“Malcolm I told you to keep them in the kitchen!” Jonathan shouts as unclips Tucker’s lead and kicks his boots off. “If I find any puddles in the rest of the house, you’re cleaning them up!”

“Oh stop being such a curmudgeon Archer,” Admiral Reed snipes back in his crisp English accent, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “They’re young and enjoy the stimulation of discovery. No harm in letting them explore a bit.”

“Admiral Sir,” Chris salutes crookedly from the floor, still rubbing furry ears and chins.

“Mr Pike! long time no see. I trust you’re still in good health?”

“He’s on medical leave actually,” Jon answers for him with a meaningful look that even Chris can read. “And will be for at least another 3 months no matter how much he complains.”

“Well now I feel like an arse, thanks for that Jon,” Reed grumbles. “Tea gentlemen?”

“The English never change,” Jon sighs in amusement. “Breakfast? Tea. House party? Tea. Interstellar crisis? Tea. Just accidentally insulted the young adoptee of one of your best friends? You got it, put the kettle on and make them tea.”

“Damn right I’ll make tea,” Reed huffs. “There’s nothing that can’t be solved with a good cuppa.”

* * *

Mug of… English breakfast? in hand, a puppy in his lap that’s mouthing at his belt loop, and a small plate of cucumber and phlat sandwiches balanced on the couch arm beside him, Chris nervously listens as Jon and Reed continue to bicker amicably in the next room. Eventually Reed announces he’s due to meet his daughter for afternoon tea and, after wishing Chris well, disappears out the front door with his aircar keys in hand.

“I honestly don’t know why he doesn’t just move in with me,” Jon says once he’s returned from showing the other Admiral out. “I know he misses his Annie, but I don’t like the thought of him rattling around that big old house of his on his own. And I know, I know. Slightly hypocritical of me, but T’Pol practically lives here when she’s on Earth too. He loves the dogs, loves how close to the park and beaches I am, loves- well maybe not loves, but he certainly doesn’t _mind_ my cooking. And we’ve known each other almost 100 years now. Not much we don’t know about each other these days.”

Chris merely shrugs, aware that Archer’s musings are more rhetoric than an actual question. 

“Sorry,” the older man suddenly smiles. “I didn’t ask you to come round here just to listen to the complaints of a creaky old man.”

“You’re not that old sir,” Chris answers automatically, good manners long since trained into him.

“Ha!” Jon barks as a laugh. “I’m 142. If that’s not old, I don’t know what is son.”

“You spend fifty years of that in cryo though,” Chris points out. “90 odd isn’t that old by modern human standards.”

“Oh poor Malcolm,” Jon sighs with another smile. “Spent ten years searching half the galaxy for Mayweather and I, only to get captured himself and join us in the freezer for the next forty.”

“You got out,” Chris laughs. “Did it with a large explosion and everything.”

“We got lucky, is what we got kid. How are you holding up anyway? You haven’t stopped looking antsy since I found you down on Mile Rock son.”

“I feel a little… Tense and jumpy today,” he admits slowly after a long considering pause. “Just as I think I’m starting to relax, I get anxious and restless again. Couldn’t sit still this morning which is why I’ve ended up walking halfway across the city. And dammit! I meant to go to the barbers. So I guess I’m in a forgetful and distracted mood too.”

“Manic?” Archer suggests with a kind look; he’s known Chris a long time now and has dealt with his transition phases several times before. Chris considers him a blessing from the stars, with his non-judgemental attitude and endless patience and support. 

“Not quite,” he frowns, “but tomorrow’s going to be a hell of a hyperactive ride if today’s trend continues. Or I could flip again and go numb and closed off.”

“I hear Miss Barry is back in town. No doubt she’ll come distract you and keep you grounded if you need it. And if it gets really bad, you know my door is always open. Anytime you need a shoulder to lean on, mine’s right here.”

“Thanks Jon,” Chris smiles at the floor, feeling his face heat. Archer has always been like this with him, no matter how old he gets, but the embarrassment still creeps up whenever he’s spoken to fondly in a way his own parents never have. 

Then the puppy in his lap whines, demanding more attention. 

“That aside,” Jon continues with an adoring look at the furball in question. “The actual reason I dragged you here was because you’re taking one of the puppies home with you.”

“What? I can’t-!”

“Well not immediately obvious. They’re all too young to be parted from their mother yet.”

“Jon! I can’t just-!”

“You can and you will. Now comm that blonde stray you acquired in Riverside and tell him to get himself here. Reed is coming back for Sunday dinner later and you’re staying to eat too. You need all the help you can get with eating square meals when your bipolar is dragging you along for a ride like this.”

* * *

* * *

Jim finds the address quite easily with the help of the GPS on his ‘fleet issue Padd. 

“Kirk why am I here,” Bones sighs from behind him as they loiter nervously behind a hedge out of sight. “I could be leering at a lovely lady or five right now.”

“Horndog,” Jim snorts.

“Hey if I gotta be divorced, I’m damn well gonna make the most of it. Now why am I here?”

“To stop me parenting a man that’s twice my age in front of two of the most famous Admirals in Starfleet.”

“What? We’ve only been here a week, what did you do? You can’t be a father figure to someone older than you, that’s not the way it works.”

“Tell that to the man who often doesn’t eat, sleep, or even shower unless I goad him into it first.”

“Wait. you don’t mean Pike do you? Goddammit Kirk! He’s a Captain!”

“The one and only. I’ve been bringing him meals and dragging him out into the sunshine and generally mother henning him ever since we got off that shuttle. Entirely deliberately too, as I took look one look at his sad face in Riverside and old instincts kicked in. In fact, I’ve been so obvious about doing it that Admiral Nogura pulled me aside to thank me for it and then gave me a big engineering lab with instructions to carry on doing so. But Archer and Reed are in a whole other league to Nogura, so you gotta help me pretend to be normal tonight.”

Bones stares at him gone out, and all Jim does is readjust his grip on the bottle of red wine he bought, and then grin sunnily back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite Jim's reputation, he only actually got laid maybe twice throughout all three seasons of TOS  
> Bones on the other hand, was always getting into some shit or other because he couldn't keep it in his pants lol
> 
> [World's End Labyrinth,](https://www.google.com/maps/place/Lands+End+Labyrinth/@37.7882956,-122.5068581,60a,35y,112.8h,58.58t/data=!3m1!1e3!4m13!1m7!3m6!1s0x80859a6d00690021:0x4a501367f076adff!2sSan+Francisco,+CA,+USA!3b1!8m2!3d37.7749295!4d-122.4194155!3m4!1s0x8085864dd1605f35:0x9536fe6d1540ff8a!8m2!3d37.7880157!4d-122.5058305) if you're interested. The beach is just below it (links to google maps)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr.](http://insane-sociopath.tumblr.com/) If you survived the purge lol (.)(.)


End file.
